


One Step at a Time

by Bus_Kids_Burgade (Inthemorninglight)



Series: I Won't Let Go [5]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: 4722 Hours AU, Cody verse, Drabble Collection, Gen, Kid Fic, Team as Family, background/implied fitzsimmons, fs as parents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-05-24 18:43:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 9,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14960034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inthemorninglight/pseuds/Bus_Kids_Burgade
Summary: Collection of drabbles in the Cody-verse





	1. Jemma and Cody: Watch your step

**Author's Note:**

> I have a small stock-pile of drabbles fitting in the first few years of Cody's arrival on Earth so I thought I'd make them available here. Ranging in length from 250-800 words or so each. 
> 
> More details about the verse can be found on my tumblr @buskidsburgade under the cody verse tag if you're interested.

“Careful,” Jemma chides as he gets out too far ahead of her, moving faster than his balance will allow for long.

“I’m careful,” Cody objects. He’s using the wall to stay upright, both hands pressed against the rough brick and clipping along pretty well for someone who has to shuffle sideways.

“The floor’s cement out here,” Jemma reminds him. “If you fall, it’s going to hurt. There isn’t any carpet or mats like in our room.” 

“Cement,” Cody repeats, drawing out the c into a long serpent's hiss. He pauses to peer down at the hallway floor, kick it lightly with his heel, and she manages to catch up with him again. “Cement’s not a mineral. I know all the minerals.” 

He resumes his rapid shuffle along the hallway, clawing hand over hand is if he’s climbing the bricks sideways. 

“You’re right. It’s a lime or calcium silicate mixture. I suppose it would be more accurate to say the floor is concrete, because the cement has to mix with sand to form a stable, solid surface.”

“The floor’s sand?” Cody asks, turning to look at her without breaking his pace. A seam that has lifted into a bit of a ledge near the wall trips him up and Jemma lunges to grab his elbow before he can go crashing to the floor.

“Watch where you’re going,  _ please _ ,” she says, putting him back on his feet.

“How’s the floor sand?” Cody asks. As soon as she lets go of him he’s back to a near-run.


	2. Cody and Lincoln: I'm stronger than I look

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because in this AU Jemma killed Hive while still on Maveth, Lincoln doesn't have to saccrifice himself and gets to join the fam (after some soul searching of his own)

When Lincoln finally comes home, he flies into the big international airport in DC. His flight lands at ten o’clock at night, and Daisy planned to pick him up, but she, Coulson, Mack, and Fitz are pulled away to save the world - or Montana anyway - last minute. Which is how May, Jemma, and Cody end up standing around baggage claim nine at 10:30 PM.

  
“Is he coming yet?” Cody asks, impatiently flapping the poster board he’d spent the better part of the afternoon coloring with Lincoln’s name in big block letters (missing the second L).

  
“I don’t see him, Monkey,” Jemma says, hand on his shoulder and eyes fixed on the escalators. “But he’ll be here any minute.”

  
As with most of the big, public places he’s been, Cody doesn’t like the airport much. It’s very loud for one thing and far, far too crowded for another. The sheer number of people in the immediate vicinity hurts his head. But he thinks if he had to wait an extra minute to see Lincoln he’d probably explode, so he’d much rather be here than back on base.

“He’s still coming, isn’t he?” he asks, looking up at Jemma anxiously.

“Yes, love, he just texted me. It takes a little while to get off the plane though.” 

Cody sighs and bounces from foot to foot. “Tell him to walk faster.” 

“You can tell him yourself,” May says suddenly, nodding to a different escalator at the far end of the baggage claim area.

  
Lincoln, much more tanned and scruffed than he’d been when he left but definitely Lincoln, is just stepping off the last step. 

“Cody!” Jemma yelps grabbing for him, but he’s already taken off at a sprint down the crowded aisle, the poster board fluttering in his wake. 

“Lincoln!” he shouts seconds before crashing into him at full speed. 

But Lincoln’s ready for him. He catches cody up in a bear hug, lifting him off the floor and turning in a circle with the momentum. His beard is scratchy against Cody’s cheek and his jacket smells funny, but Cody doesn’t mind at all.

“Hey, bud,” Lincoln murmurs into his shoulder. “I missed you.” 

“Don’t leave anymore, okay?”

“Okay, deal.” 

He lets Cody slide back to the floor as Jemma and May catch up. Jemma throws her arms around his neck in a hug almost as fierce as Cody’s and he spins her too, her toes at least a foot off the ground. 

“Alright?” he asks when he sets her down again and there’s a lot in the question, a lot that makes Cody think he knows she cries at night still and sometimes sits in the closet with the door locked. 

Cody is very glad he’s back.

“Hey, I got that, bud,” Lincoln says reaching for the overstuffed duffle bag Cody’s heaving off the floor. “It’s bigger than you are.” 

“It’s not heavy,” Cody says, panting and wobbling a little with the excess weight, but adamantly refusing to allow Lincoln to lift it off his shoulders.

“I’m stronger than I look.” 

Lincoln’s grin is lost in his beard. “I believe it, kid.”


	3. Cody and Fitz: I'm sorry, I didn't mean to

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Snippets from the next chapter of Learning to Breathe, in which Jemma goes into preterm labor and slips into a coma due to complications.

“Come on, Code.” Fitz’s voice comes from a long way away, like from underwater. “You’ve got to eat something. It’s chocolate chip pancakes. It’s your favorite.”

Cody blinks slowly and Fitz’s face swims above him. Then his gaze slide past to the patch of lamplight on the ceiling.

Fitz eases himself down onto the floor, propped up on an elbow, and brushes the hair out of Cody’s eyes.

“What’ll Mum say when she wakes up and finds out you haven’t had anything?”

Go on, love. That’s what she’ll say. Go on, love. That’s all he can hear her saying.

Go where? Where is he supposed to go without her?

“Hunter’s making soup,” Fitz says and his voice is quiet and close now. There is a crease in his brow and he reaches over to rub his hand up and down Cody’s arm like he’s trying to warm him up. Like Cody’s turning to ice in the middle of the rug. “That sounds good, doesn’t it? You’ll have some of that?”

Cody turns his head to look at the gap under the couch. Fitz lets his breath out in a quiet puff.

“I’ll bring him a bowl when it’s ready.” Hunter, from a long way off again.

Fitz bends low to whisper in his ear, “You better eat that, or I’ll tell Mum on you.”

Then he kisses Cody’s temple and is gone and Cody lets his eyes drift closed. 

...

“You can hate me if you want.” 

“What?” Fitz, half-asleep and reeling on three-and-a-half days of stress like nothing he’s ever dealt with, is sure he’s hearing things. He rolls over to look at Cody, who’s curled up on Jemma’s half of the bed, hugging her pillow to his chest.

“You can hate me,” Cody repeats and that’s definitely what he says. “Or be mad at me. You can shout at me if you want to.” 

Fitz scrubs a hand over his face. “Honey, what are you talking about?”

“It’s my fault.” Cody’s voice wavers all over the place. “Mom and the baby. It’s my fault, and so it’s okay if you hate me, I understand.” 

“Cody -” Fitz sits up and reaches over him to turn the lamp on. “This isn’t your fault, monkey. Hey - look at me, alright?”

He pulls the pillow back so Cody can see his face. 

“First of all,” Fitz says, dabbing at Cody’s wet cheeks with his sleeve, “I could never hate you. You’re my kid, yeah? So I love you no matter what. Second, I’m not angry, not at you or at anyone. Maybe at myself for not being here, but definitely not at you, okay? Third - and I really need you to understand this one, okay? Because it’s important - this is not your fault.”

Cody’s face crumples. “I’m s-sorry. I didn’t mean for it to - to happen. I’m sorry.”  

Fitz sighs, pulls him upright and gathers him against his chest. “It’s not your fault, honey. It’s not your fault.” 


	4. Cody and his Grandmother: I did the dishes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before Jemma adopts him, Cody's grandparents, Chuck and Kathy Austin, take custody for a few months. They own a ranch out in Wyoming and it's a bit of a rough go. Anyway, this is a moment from that.

Kathy doesn’t think she's ever been as exhausted as she is these days. Not even when she had a newborn baby and a husband in the worst throes of PTSD. 

Their grandson is a miracle. She is still thanking God morning, noon, and night for him. But he’s also a terror. 

He barely sleeps. He throws things. He digs holes in the drywall and rips up the wallpaper. If she turns her back for a second, he tries to slip out a door or a window, finds an electrical outlet to pick at, slips a knife up his sleeve, or disappears into some nook or cranny and leaves her searching the house frantically until she finds him. Sometimes he’ll just lie on the floor and keep up a high, persistent keening for hours on end, violently resisting every attempt at moving or speaking to him. 

He’s unhappy here. She knows that. The only thing he seems to like is the old dog, Rozzy, and nothing they’ve tried has done much to change that.

The sun isn’t up yet, but Chuck is already dressing in the dark, getting ready for work. Kathy keeps the heavy quilt pulled up to her chin for just a moment more, contemplating another day of tantrums and hunger strikes and fights over everything from changing clothes to swallowing pills to trips to the barn to look after the horses. 

_ Be grateful.  _ The mantra used to come to her in her mother-in-law’s voice, but now she hears it in Laurie’s. She is grateful, and in her morning prayer she reminds herself of all the things she’s grateful for and implores the powers that be to protect her husband out on the oil fields and give her mother a good day at the nursing home. This morning she adds one more beseachmen: please, Lord, let today be better than yesterday. 

Then Kathy throws off the quilts and heads downstairs to start breakfast before Chuck has to leave.

She isn’t surprised to find Cody’s bed empty when she stops by his room. He’s almost always awake before her, and she always has a vague feeling of dread as she comes downstairs, wondering what she’ll find he’s been up to. 

This morning she finds him quickly, kneeling on a stool that’s been dragged right up to the kitchen counter. He jumps when she turns the kitchen light on and drops something into the sink with a clatter. 

“I washed ‘em,” he says quickly, whipping around and watching her warily as she rounds the counter for a closer look. “I didn’t break ‘em this time, I just washed ‘em.” 

Sure enough, the Corelle dishes she’d bought yesterday to replace the cabinet-full he’d smashed are stacked in the drying rack, and foamy dishwater still laps in the sink.

Kathy lets her breath out in a slow gust and looks up at the ceiling. “Thank you.” She grabs a dish towel from the stove and dries Cody’s dripping hands gently, mindful of the splotchy rash the dish soap has ignited all the way up to his elbows. She pushes her hand affectionately through his messy hair and says it again, to him this time. “Thank you.” 


	5. Cody and Fitz: I'll be there

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place a few months after the Framework. The team has moved into Tony's upstate base and fs are taking a lot more time to deal with the ramifications of season 4.

“What’s that for?” Cody asks curiously, watching Fitz hoist a bucket of wet clay onto the table.

Fitz drops it right beside where Cody sits, feet swinging two feet above the floor. 

“This,” Fitz says, pulling on some plastic gloves and offering a pair to Cody, “is so we can make a rough mock-up. Just to mimic the sort of tail weight this design would have.” He scoops a ball of clay out of the bucket and slaps it into Cody’s palm, then scoops out more for himself. “Try making a nice long cone, like this,” Fitz instructs, showing him how to sculpt the correct shape.

Cody scrunches up his face as he manipulates the clay. “This is weird. It feels wet but I have gloves.” 

“Ah, that’s because it’s cold,” Fitz explains. “Your nerves get confused sometimes about if something’s cold or wet. Ask your mum about it. She knows how all that’s wired.” 

“Like this?” Cody asks, holding up his clay lump for inspection.

“Exactly. Try smoothing that part out there - ah, brilliant!”

They work for a while in silence. Cody finishes molding his part of the tail piece and watches for a while as Fitz molds them to the base of his projectile. He wants to see what the clay feels like without the gloves, though, and turns his attention to rolling a slippery ball between his palms as Fitz works.

It feels even weirder without the gloves, thick and slimy, like a cross between mud and playdough. The trace of a memory he knows isn’t really his flashes in the back of his mind, sculpting something out of clay in a bright, noisy room his brain tells him was summer camp. It’s only half-there though, like the dregs of a dream fading fast. 

These flashes from the Framework are happening less and less now, but they still stir an uneasy knot in him, make him feel like he’s sharing his body with a shadow that isn’t him. There’s something soothing, though, feeling the clay squeeze through his fingers and then working it into a smooth mass again, so he focuses on that as Fitz works. 

“It’s going to be my birthday soon,” he says out of the blue. “Did you know that?” 

Fitz is shaken out of his intense concentration. He glances over at Cody, lips quirking when he sees the clay coating his bare hands, smudging his forearms and dripping in spots onto his jeans. Jemma will probably not be pleased about that, but he just grabs a cloth from the cabinet and drapes it over Cody’s lap to prevent any further drips and lets him carry on. 

“Yeah, I remember that day pretty well,” he says. “October seventeenth. It’s a Tuesday this year.” 

“Yeah, and I’m not going to be sick this year so Mom says we’re going to have a big party, even bigger than last year.” 

“Whoa, bet that’ll be fun.” 

“Yeah, and Steve might even come for a little. And Coulson says Ms. Potts wants to come, and maybe Hill too if she’s not that busy. He says she likes cake, and Mom says she’s gonna make a giant cake and it’s gonna be chocolate and she’ll even make flowers out of frosting and show me how.” 

“Your mum’s really good at those flowers. The whole base’ll be here if they hear she’s making a cake.” 

“I know, that’s why it’s kind of a secret, but I wanted to make sure you knew.” 

Fitz bends over his project to hide his amusement. “Well I sure appreciate the invitation.”

Out of his eyeline, Cody is biting his lip, a troubled look cloudling his face. 

“There’s gonna be games like bean bags and giant Jenga and volleyball and Mom thinks we might get another trampoline since the other one got burned up, and Lincoln says we can have a pitching machine too but only it has to be tennis balls for safety, and face painting like they have at the fair. And, um, rockets, maybe, too.” 

“Rockets?” Fitz asks, raising an eyebrow. 

Cody nods “Like the ones you can build like we did before and put monkeys-in-a-barrel in. There’ll be a contest. I bet you’d win. There might even be a prize.”

“I dunno, have you ever seen Mack build a rocket?” 

“But it sounds like fun doesn’t it? You want to come, don’t you?”

The uncertainty in Cody’s voice makes Fitz stop what he’s doing. He pulls his gloves off and gives Cody his full attention.

“Yeah, I want to come to your birthday party. Of course I do, bud.” 

He squeezes Cody’s shoulder gently in assurance, but for some reason Cody’s lip starts to tremble and he ducks his head, probably so Fitz won’t notice him fighting back tears.

“But you might not come. Because of Mom and everything, right? You might - might not come.” 

Fitz lets his breath out slowly. He pulls a clean handkerchief out of his pocket and tips Cody’s face up so he can clean him up a little since Cody’s own hands are covered in clay. He and Jemma have been getting on a lot better the past few weeks. Talking in the lab, having meals together a few times a week. But it’s precarious, and the truth is, if Jemma made any indication that she’d be uncomfortable with him there, he wouldn’t come. 

And that would be a blow for Cody, no matter what the justification. If he hadn’t known that before, he knows it for certain now. 

“Listen,” he says, resolve forming firm and sudden in his chest. “I’ll be there, alright? I promise.” 

He and Jemma are just going to have to make sure they can work it out. Whatever they have to do. He doesn’t want to be that person who doesn’t show up for birthdays. He doesn’t want to miss anything else. 

Cody sniffles. “Really?” 

“I promised, didn’t I? Don’t you worry about it anymore, okay? Everyone who loves you from your mum to Captain America is going to be at your birthday party.” 

A grin breaks out across Cody’s face and it’s like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. 

“It’s going to be really fun, I promise. Probably the best party ever.” 

“You bet,” Fitz agrees. 

As he resumes working on the finishing touches to the mock-up, he starts trying to figure out how he can ensure Captain Steve Rogers will make it to this party. 


	6. Cody and Jemma: Don't cry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Jemma finally comes out to Wyoming to take Cody home.

He thinks he’s dreaming when her face finally comes into focus. There are a lot of things rolling around inside of him, but something keeps them all squished down so he doesn’t have to pay attention to them. There’s a dull ache throughout his whole body. Somewhere the bright bright lights and strange noises are drawing tight knots of anxiety, and there’s anger and resentment that tastes like the dial tone of a dropped call when he sees her. But all these things are washed far away, and he leans automatically toward the safety and familiarity of her figure. 

But there is something wrong. Her face glitters under the fluorescent lights and he sees tears dropping thick and fast into her lap.

“Don’t cry,” he says. His voice is weak and rough, worn through in places, but she hears it because her head jerks up.

“Hey, Monkey,” she says and a smile splits her teary face. She scoots closer to him and runs her fingers through his hair. “You’re awake.” 

Her voice is rough too. 

“Don’t cry,” he says more urgently, and tries to lift his hand to rub out the tears, but his left arm is folded into a sling and held firmly at his chest. It hurts even to try to move so he stops trying. “Don’t cry.” 

Jemma laughs a little and wipes her face on her sleeve. “Alright, no more crying.” she agrees. “How are you feeling?” 

He thinks about it and decides on, “Ouch.”

Jemma laughs a little more. “Yes, very much ouch. Cody -” it looks like there is a lot on her lips, but she just lets her breath out and shakes her head. “I’m so  _ so  _ glad you’re alright.”

To his horror, he suddenly feels tears gathering in his own eyes and a tight feeling in his throat. “Don’t cry,” he says again but this time for himself. 

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” Jemma soothes. 

She takes her hand back and the sudden loss of contact makes him whimper, but it’s just so she can pull the bedrail down, and then she slides onto the mattress beside him and has her arms all the way around him, telling him he’s okay and kissing the top of his head. 

For some reason this makes the crying feeling worse, but he takes a few gulps of air and wills it away. His good hand comes up to pat at Jemma’s shoulder, run through the ends of her long hair.

“Are you real?”

“Yes, Monkey, I’m real, I’m here.” 

He turns into her as much as he can with his sling and clutches tightly at her sweatshirt.

“Don’t go anywhere.”

“I promise I won’t. Not ever.” 

“Ever ever?” 

“Forever. This time I mean forever.”


	7. Cody and Jemma: are you sure?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part II of Jemma officially adopting Cody

It’s taken a while to get the adoption papers, even with Daisy helping them bypass protocols and red tape in leaps and bounds. She’s forged an entire identity for Cody, birth certificate, social security number, the works. She could have forged adoptions papers too, but Jemma doesn’t want to risk it. If anything should happen, if anyone should ever try to take him away - 

She can’t risk it. It has to be the real deal, so it takes a while. 

But when they do finally come they make it a big deal. Mack and Coulson make a big meal. Everyone dresses up a little, even though they can’t all go to meet with the judge. There are gifts, both from the team to them, and also between just the two of them. 

In the month since she’s had him back on base, Cody’s been practically a different kid. He’s been smiling and laughing, excited about everything. Especially about the fact that Jemma is now Mom. He’s found a way to work the word into every sentence out of his mouth. So Jemma notices at once, when, in the car to the judge’s office, he grows unusually subdued.

She’d anticipated him bouncing off the walls, as he’d done whenever someone brought up the papers in the past few weeks. But he’s quiet, staring at his hands instead of peeking out the window of the car, a crease between his eyes.

Jemma waits until they pull into a parking space, telling Daisy, Fitz, and Coulson to go ahead and let the judge know they’re coming. When they have the car to themselves, she touches Cody’s knee tentatively.

“What are you thinking about?” 

He looks up at her finally, lips parting a little, but the words don’t make it out. A hand creeps up to tug at his hair, a habit that gives away his anxiety. 

“Are you nervous about meeting the judge?” she guesses. It’s a new place, after all, and new places and new people don’t have the greatest track record in his experiences. “It won’t be scary, I promise. There won’t be anyone else there this time in the evening and we don’t have to be there long. It’ll be like we practiced and we’ll all be with you the whole time.” 

He fights his way free of his seatbelt and scoots closer to her in the back seat, going on his knees so they can be at a level.

“This makes it for real, doesn’t it? You said the papers make it for real, forever.” 

Jemma  nods. “Yes, the papers make it official. I’ll be your legal guardian and you’ll be my son in the eyes of the law.” 

“You’ll be Mom. And there’s no take backs.” 

“Exactly.” 

She expects this to clear the worry on his face but for some reason it only seems to intensify it. He sits back on his heels, chewing his bottom lip and digging his nails into his palms.

Jemma takes his hands and uncurls his fingers before he draws blood. “What's the matter?”

“Are you sure?” he asks. His eyes are wide and ernest when he turns them on her.

She isn’t sure what he means, though. “Sure about what?”

“Sure that you want the papers. They mean no take backs.”

The idea that she might not be sure, after everything they've been through to get here, is so bizarre it draws a laugh from her that she quickly tries to subdue. 

“Yes, love. I'm sure.”

He looks away and shifts restlessly, apparently unassuaged. “You said way before - you said you didn't want to be Mom. Not to anybody.”

Ah. Jemma can hear herself saying it, not just to him but to Fitz how many times, to Coulson, to herself.

“Yes, I did say that before,” she acknowledges. “But I changed my mind.”

“What if you change it back?” 

“I’m not going to change it back.” 

“You don’t have to, you know,” he says very quietly, peaking back up at her through the bangs that fall in his face. “If you don’t want to. Just ‘cause grandma and grandpa gave me back - it doesn’t mean - I can be by myself you know. Like before. You don’t have to be Mom, you can just be Jemma, and we could be friends or not.”

“Come here,” she says and scoots him right up against her side so she can put her arms around him. “I want you to listen to me. Are you listening?” 

She feels more than sees his head bob. 

“I want to be Mom. I want to be Mom very much, in fact, for you specifically. And I am never going to change my mind about it. Got it?” 

“You can think about it if you -” 

“I don’t need to think about it any more. I’ve been thinking about it for months and months. Cody Austin Daniels, I’m your mother whether you like it or not, alright?”

She leans down to see his face, her hair falling in a curtain. There is finally a small smile there, and it grows wider. 

“Alright.” 

“Alright?” she grins and jostles him a little to get a louder response and he giggles.

“Alright!” 

“Alright! Now, let’s go find those papers.”


	8. Cody and Fitz: what do you want to watch?

“Alright,” Fitz says, wrapping another blanket around Cody’s shoulders and putting an arm around him for good measure. “What do you want to watch?”

The kid looks miserable, white and clammy and sniffly and like he’d like to be sleeping for the next week straight except he can hardly stop coughing long enough to draw a few breaths. He probably wants his mother. That’s probably all he wants. But maybe 24/7 ESPN and disney movies will be an okay second? 

A distraction at the very least, Fitz hopes. 

Cody shrugs and hands the remote over to Fitz.

“You pick something -” he hastily turns away as he starts sneezing, and Fitz passes over a box of Kleenex. 

Once he’s recovered, he drops his head against Fitz’s shoulder with a sigh. Fitz pulls the blanket more snugly around him. 

“Are you sure there isn’t anything you really want to put on? It can be whatever you like.”

“I wanna watch what you wanna watch.”

“Alright then.” Fitz settles back against the headboard and turns the TV on, flipping through channels until he finds what he’s looking for.

“Baseball?” Cody asks, wriggling around to look up at him. “You think baseball’s boring.” 

“I do not. What made you think that?” Fitz asks, sputtering in mock offense.

“You told Mack it was professional watching-grass-grow.”

“You have big ears,” Fitz grouses and tickles Cody’s unguarded belly. 

His giggles rapidly turn into a harsh coughing fit though and Fitz sits him forward, rubbing his back and waiting anxiously for it to pass.

“Alright?” he asks when Cody finally slumps back against his stack of pillows. Cody nods, rubbing the base of his throat with a wince. “Good, because I’ll need you to explain what’s going on. Those people standing around on the pitch, they’re not just watching the grass grow?” 

Cody shakes his head and burrows into Fitz’s side. “It’s called a field and they’re outfielders….”


	9. Cody and Fitz: I hope you like it

“I can do it,” Cody insists for perhaps the thirtieth time that morning. 

“This is pretty tricky, bud, I better-” 

“No I can.” Cody nudges his way under Fitz’s arm, and slips the spatula out of his hand. 

Should kids be standing this close to a stove? Fitz thinks probably not. Especially not Jemma’s kid. But when Cody decides he wants to do something, stopping him is almost impossible. So Fitz pulls a chair over from the table for him to kneel on so he can get a better angle and holds the frying pan while Cody works the spatula under the battery pool and flips the pancake. 

“Nice job,” Fitz tells him. 

He read an article about acknowledging small successes, especially when kids volunteer to help or do chores. It wasn’t the neatest flip in the world, but the pancake stayed in the pan, so success.

Only two pancakes fall to their demise in the transfer from pan to plate. Cody says he can eat them anyway, but Fitz, feeling slightly green, manages to convince him they have plenty non-floor pancakes to share. 

Fitz carries the plate to the table while Cody fills his arms with condiments from the fridge. Whipped cream and maple syrup, but also butter, jam, Hershey’s chocolate sauce, cherries, cream cheese, ranch, ketchup, pickles, and mayonnaise. 

“I don’t know if all of those things go good with pancakes,” Fitz says as Cody lines them up in a circle between them. 

“Don’t know till you try it out.” 

He’s had to develop a stronger stomach to share meals with this kid. 

As they eat, though, Cody’s demeanor changes. He loads his first pancake with syrup and whipped cream and cherries, but spends so much time pushing bites around his plate, the whipped cream has melted before he gets halfway through. He’s gone a little quiet and twitchy. 

“Hey, bud,” Fitz says after several minutes of this, and waits for Cody’s attention to shift to him. “Something wrong?” 

Cody shakes his head and shoves a big bite into his mouth. “I have something for you,” he says before he’s even finished chewing and rises to his knees on the chair to pull it out of his pocket. 

It’s a small package wrapped haphazardly in printer paper decorated with crayon scrawls. 

“It’s not as pretty as the special paper Coulson got for Mother’s Day,” Cody says apologetically. 

“I like it,” Fitz says, examining the scribbles. “Very abstract. Post-modern.” 

“What’s astract?” Cody asks, turning himself sideways in his chair to look at Fitz better. 

“Um, kind of hard to explain. Is this for me?” 

Cody bites one of his knuckles and nods a little shyly. “I hope you like it.” 

Fitz feels something hot and sweet glowing in his chest. Makes it a little hard to find words, but he smiles and ruffles Cody’s wild hair. “Thank you, Monkey.”

He takes care peeling back the tape so as not to rip the drawings. At first he thinks it’s a bright orange ribbon inside (which would not be the strangest gift Cody has ever presented him with), but on closer inspection, he sees that it’s a tie patterned with the Broncos’ logo. 

“It’s okay if you don’t want it,” Cody says quickly, watching Fitz’s face closely. “I just thought - Daisy said ties were ‘customary’.”

“Customary for what?” Fitz asks, endeared by the gesture but also somewhat baffled.

“Don’t you know what today is?” Cody asks. 

“Sunday…?”

“It’s Father’s Day,” Cody tells him. “I know you’re not my dad, but Daisy got stuff for Coulson and he’s not her dad and you do a lot of things I guess dads do - but if - if you don’t want us to be like that, then I can send it back -” 

He’s already reaching for the tie, looking anxiously at the tears gathering in the corners of Fitz’s eyes, but Fitz quickly loops it around his collar and does his best to tie a loose knot. Father’s Day. He hasn’t thought about it in over fifteen years.

He clears his throat. “C’mere you little monkey.” He pulls Cody onto his lap and hugs him, careful not to squeeze too hard. “I’m keeping this forever, okay? It’s the best present I’ve ever gotten. I love it.” 


	10. Daisy and Jemma: I want it to be perfect

_I need you to come eat cake._

Daisy makes a face at her phone, but, curious, pulls herself free of Lincoln’s arm and climbs over him to get to her shoes.

“Hm - what?” Lincoln pushes himself up on the couch and squints at her. “Where are you going?”

“Jemma may or may not have sent me a booty call,” Daisy says, tossing her phone at him to have a look at the inscrutable message.

Lincoln snorts. “Weird timing either way.”

He heaves himself off the couch with a groan and slips his arms around her waist, pulling her into a deep kiss.

“What’s that about?” Daisy asks when she finally surfaces, heady on the scent of him.

“Just so you don’t forget Simmons has competition,” he whispers, going in for one last peck before letting her go.

Daisy lingers, not disguising the way she watches him retreat to their bedroom.

Jemma pulls the door open before Daisy has finished knocking, hurriedly shushing her.

“Oh, we’re playing up the clandestine angle,” Daisy says and draws her tongue across her upper lip flirtatiously, but Jemma doesn’t even seem to notice.

“I think he’s still asleep,” she says, focused entirely on Cody’s bedroom door as if she can see right through it.

Jemma has a floral apron thrown over sweats, hair pulled back into a top knot and flour spattered head to toe.

“So I’m leaning toward literal cake then?” Daisy wagers, looking her up and down and then eyeing the kitchen counters piled high with dirty mixing bowls.

“What?” Jemma asks, distracted. “Come here, I need your cleansed pallet.”

“You really don’t hear it, do you?” Daisy marvels. “Maybe Sister Lucretia was right about my dirty mind.”

She dutifully follows Jemma to the kitchen table, caught only a little off guard when she gets a forkful of chocolate cake shoved into her mouth.

“Mmf - i’s good.”

“But do you taste the caramel hints? It’s supposed to be turtley.”

Daisy gulps the mouthful down. “Definitely, and a salty undertone too.”

“Too salty?” Jemma scoops a finger of batter from a nearby bowl, concentrating intently.

“No, no,” Daisy assures her. “It’s delicious, Jem. But may I ask - what the hell is going on here? Did your kitchen explode?”

“Oh.” Jemma only now seems to notice the mess. She gathers up an armful of used dishes and piles them in the sink, turning the water on. “I’ve decided on three layers, each with a different flavor, for the aesthetic, but I think it will be easier and allow for more variation to have cupcakes for the bulk of the crowd.”

“Are you talking about the kid’s party?” Daisy asks. “Isn’t it a little early to start baking the cake? You’ve still got two weeks.”

“Ten days,” Jemma corrects. “And of course I’m not baking the actual cakes, I’ll do that day of, but I need to perfect the recipes well in advance.” She sets a plate full of beautifully decorated cupcakes in front of Daisy. “Try those and tell me which ones you like best. And of course I can’t bake while Cody’s awake because he’ll want to eat nothing but cake.”

“I would kill a man for this red velvet one,” Daisy says, cream cheese frosting all over her upper lip. “But Jemma, you’re not cooking for the Queen of England. I think whatever you whip up will be fine.”

“I don’t want it to be fine,” Jemma objects. She’s returned to scrubbing dishes at the sink. “I want it to be perfect. He deserves a nice birthday for once in his life.”

Daisy eyes her as she picks her next cupcake to taste. “I think he had a nice birthday last year.”

Jemma turns the faucet on as low as she can to rinse the dishes. “He asked to leave his own party last year.”

“He was just wore out from having such a good time.”

“He was worn out because he was still sick and would much rather have been sleeping.”

Daisy licks crumbs of lemon cake off her finger and reaches for a pitcher of water on the table. “Whatever you do, that kid will be over the moon. Don’t stress yourself out.”

Jemma lays a freshly-cleaned mixing bowl upside-down in the drying rack. “It’s been a rather rubbish year, is all,” she says quietly. “I wanted -” she sighs and blinks up at the ceiling. “I thought once I got him out of that place, everything would just be good, but it’s been quite the opposite.”

Daisy gets up and clears a clutter of cake pans off the stove to turn the kettle on. While they wait for it to boil, she grabs a dish towel and dries as Jemma washes.

“I think if you ask him, it’s still been pretty good,” she says after a few more dishes.

“He’s only got hell to compare it to,” Jemma says dismissively.

The whistle hasn’t started, but they can hear the water bubbling in the teapot, so Daisy turns it off before it can wake Cody. She rummages in Jemma’s cupboards until she comes up with a mug and some chamomile tea leaves and pours the steaming water.

Then she plucks the half-scrubbed cupcake pan out of Jemma’s hands and forces her by the shoulders to sit down.

“I love you,” Daisy says taking one of Jemma’s hands across the table and looking at her very seriously. “But, babe, you’re gonna drive us all crazy obsessing over giving your son a perfect life. It’s not possible, and I don’t think he’s expecting one.”

Jemma curls her fingers around her mug and nods. “I know. But one really good birthday party shouldn’t be too much to ask.”

“Alright,” Daisy says decisively. “Classic French vanilla is a must, right? And I’m always going to recommend some red velvet, it’s just a crowd pleaser. And as much as I love the lemon, the people want chocolate. That turtle thing is aces. So dessert’s taken care of, right? If there’s anything else you need us to do, just let us know. Send out the command, boss lady.”

Jemma cracks a smile, lifting her cup to hide it.

“I think what Cody would like best,” Daisy goes on more gently, “is for his mom to be well-rested and enjoy herself at his party. So I’m gonna finish washing these dishes and you’re gonna drink your tea, and then when I leave you’re not going to keep stress baking, right?”

Jemma groans, but it’s playful. “I suppose not. I thought I was the boss lady, though.”

“Only when you’re of sound mind,” Daisy explains, turning on the water again and pouring a healthy amount of dish soap onto a sponge. “When you’re going crazy over cupcakes at ten pm then I get to take charge.”


	11. Cody and Jemma: Mom

“Do you know what’s in three days?” Jemma asks. 

 

Her arms come around him like a tether and Cody leans back into her safe and soft. “No.”

 

He still isn’t quite sure what a day is. Jemma says it’s how long it takes to sleep and be awake one time, but then sometimes he wakes up and wakes up and wakes up again and it’s still the same day. And sometimes he doesn’t sleep once and it’s another day. 

 

“It’s almost one whole month you’ve been on Earth,” she says in his ear. 

 

“Oh.” He spins the circles on the bottom of the Red fast fast against his palm. They make a nice  _ wheee _ sound. 

 

“You’ve put on two whole pounds since we’ve been here, what do you think about that?” 

 

“I’m big.” 

 

“You’re headed in the right direction.” She squeezes his middle gently. 

 

He runs Red up her arm. 

 

“Are they driving up a mountain?” 

 

“What’s driving?” 

 

“That’s what cars do, remember?” 

 

“What’s cars?” 

 

“That’s what you’re playing with. That’s a toy car.” 

 

“No, it’s Red, you said.” 

 

“It’s a red car. Red’s the color, see? A car is what it is.” 

 

“She’s Red. She only needs one name.” 

 

“Alright, we’ll call her Red.”

 

Cody rubs the back of his hand into one of his burning eyes. He feels heavy and dull, but there’s too much going on out here to let his eyes close. There’s the growly pot growling on the counter he needs to keep an eye on. And there’s Mack and Fitz talking at the table. And there’s Daisy tap-tap-tapping on her star book. And there’s Red and his juice with plenty of sips left and the floor to run his fingers over and Jemma talking. 

 

“I think it’s bedtime, Monkey,” is the next thing she says though. He shouldn’t have rubbed his face. 

 

“No.” 

 

Cody zooms Red over the bumpy floor and reaches for his juice. 

 

“Yes,” Jemma counters gently. 

 

Cody shakes his head and wriggles out of her arms, but he’s too heavy to hold himself up. He spills forward onto the floor instead, cheek pressed into the foam matting Coulson laid down to cover the lounge’s cement floor.

 

Jemma doesn’t grab for him. Instead she lays down next to him so their noses are six inches apart. 

 

“I bet Red’s tired.” 

 

“Nope.” Cody speeds her in zigzags in between them. 

 

But his eyelids droop despite his best efforts. He’s not sure how long this day has been or how many days he’s been awake even, but it feels like a long long time. 

 

“Come on,” Jemma says, and he feels her lift him off the ground. 

 

“Noooo,” he complains even as he buries his face in the crook of her neck. 

 

“Yeeeees,” she mimics back at him, and he can hear the smile on her face. “Say goodnight to Daisy.” 

 

He says nothing but Daisy kneels on her chair to tell him to sleep tight, and he hears Mack and Fitz chorus goodnight as they pass the table, Mack’s big hand landing on his back for a moment. 

 

Jemma lets him hang onto Red as she brushes his teeth, standing behind him at the sink, and as she pulls a clean sweatshirt over his head, but she makes him set her down before he climbs under their sheets. Cody crawls under the bed to tuck her in next to Smee. They can keep each other company. 

 

“Are you sure you don’t want to try your very own bed?” Jemma asks. She nods to the cot jammed up next to hers, which he hasn’t slept in once. 

 

“No.” 

 

“Okay,” she sighs. “I’m turning the lights out, are you ready?” 

 

“One… two....” She’ll turn them out on three, that’s the agreement, so he puts off saying it, instead kicking his foot up under the blankets to make a tent, looking at the soft glow the lamp makes through the fabric. 

 

“Cody,” Jemma sing-songs, reminding him. 

 

“Three.” 

 

Cody lets his foot fall and the room is plunged into darkness at the same moment. He feels Jemma pulling the blankets over herself and one of her hands finds him. 

 

“Goodnight, Monkey.” 

 

“Night, Mom.” 

 

The light clicks on at once. Jemma is sitting up, looking down at him. He squints and presses his palms over his eyes against the sudden bright. 

 

It could be a mistake. A bleary slip of the tongue. But it sounded very awake. 

 

Her mouth has gone dry. 

 

“What - what did you say?” 

 

“I said night. That’s what you’re s’posta say.” 

 

“But what did you call me?” 

 

“Mom,” Cody says and pulls his hands away to see her. “You could be Mom. You do all the right things.”

 

His voice is a little bit smaller than usual. It’s lost its certain edge. 

 

“Cody….” Very gently, Jemma brushes the hair out of his eyes. 

 

She can see how this happened. She should have seen it barreling at her, really. 

 

“Honey, I’m not your mother.” 

 

“I know.” Cody rolls toward her, clutching at her clothes. “But you could be. My new one.” 

 

She’s let this go on far too long. She’s blurred the lines without meaning to at all. 

 

“Code,” she says, pushing him away a little so they can look at one another. “I know it’s all a little confusing, but I can’t be your mother, alright? I can’t even be your legal guardian.” 

 

“Why not?” 

 

“Because - because it doesn’t work like that. I’m just an agent. I just brought you home. That’s all.” 

 

“But you take care of me,” he says, eyes big. “You tell me to sleep and make things to eat and give me toys and teach me things. You’re a good Mom.” 

 

“That’s not…” Jemma searches for words that will help him understand, but none of them are gentle. “We’re friends, Cody,” she finally settles on. “We’re just friends. And you’re very special to me, but I’m not going to be your mother. That’s not what we are. Do you understand?” 

 

No, he does not understand. “Why can’t you be my friend and my mom?”

 

“Because that’s not how it works.”

 

But she has not been helping him to understand this. She has not set up boundaries. She has not acted like only a friend. 

 

“I think you should sleep in your bed tonight,” Jemma decides. “I shouldn’t be letting you sleep in my bed. I’m sorry, that was my fault. I made a mistake.” 

 

“No you didn’t.” Cody’s throat tightens and he pulls the sheets up over his head. 

 

But Jemma pulls them back, nudging him toward the cot. 

 

“What if I just sleep way over on this side? I’ll stay away from you, I promise.”

 

Jemma gets up and pulls the sheets back on the cot, fluffing the pillows. “Don’t you want your very own bed? It’s nice and cozy and just your size.”

 

When he doesn’t move, Jemma bundles him from her mattress to his herself, grabbing Captain Abearica and tucking him in snugly. Then she pulls on the cot to put a few inches between their mattresses.  

 

Cody watches her get back into the big bed, too far away to reach. He squeezes bear Cap tight and chews on one of the mangled fingers on his bad hand. He feels dizzy and too hot and like his chest is caving in all at once. 

 

He doesn’t understand what he did wrong. No one ever  _ said  _ calling Jemma ‘Mom’ was against the rules. No one ever said. 

 

The lights go off again, this time with no counting. 

 

It’s so dark. So so dark. There wasn’t dark like this at home. The stars were there or the light. The sheets are cold and stiff around him and he can’t breathe. He fights the blankets off but he still can’t breathe, and bear Cap isn’t jammed against his chest anymore, and his fingers scrabble over empty folds of material, and and and - 

 

The lights are on again, and Jemma’s not so far away. She’s holding something brown and paper over his mouth. He pushes it away, but she just puts it back. 

 

“It’s okay, breathe into the bag, it’ll help. You’re hyperventilating.” 

 

She has one arm around him and with her other hand holds the paper firmly against his face. Every time he gulps in a breath, it crinkles. 

 

“There you go,” Jemma says softly as his breath starts to even out. “Good job.” 

 

She meters her breathing to his and, after a few more cycles of in and out, finally takes the bag away. He can’t read her face when she looks down at him. It looks like something hurts maybe. 

 

“I’m sorry I called you that, can I come back now?” 

 

She hesitates. “How about it I sleep on this side? We can hold hands until you’re asleep.”

 

She leans over and pulls bear Cap out of the gap between the beds, replaces him in Cody’s arms, and lays down yet again, this time on the edge of the bed closest to him.

 

“You can hit me if I did something bad,” Cody tells her. His voice cracks a little but he means it.

 

Jemma squeezes his fingers, reaching out with her other hand to touch his cheek. “I am never ever going to hit you, alright?”

 

“But if you hit me then it can be done and I can come back,” Cody persists. He doesn’t like being hit but it gets over fast anyway. “I won’t be in trouble. I don’t want to be in trouble anymore.” 

 

“You’re not in trouble,” Jemma says. “I just haven’t done a good job of acting like what we are and I think I confused you.” 

 

Cody wriggles to the very edge of the cot, as close to her as he can get. “You’re still going to take care of me though, right? You said.” 

 

Jemma rubs a thumb over the web of his hand. “I’m going to make sure you’re taken care of. You don’t need to worry about that.” 

 

“And you still love me?”

 

Yet another question she isn’t sure how best to answer. In the six months they’ve known each other, she doesn’t remember ever using that word. It might be true, but should an agent be saying that to a little boy?

 

No one else has, though, she thinks. Not in a very long time.

 

“Of course I still love you,” she murmurs, because kids should hear that. “That’s not going to change.” 

 

“Good. I still love you too.” His fingers squeeze hers as hard as they can. 

 

Their clasped hands fit into the gap between the beds, Jemma turns to look up at the dim ceiling. First thing in the morning she needs to start looking for his family. 


	12. Jemma and Cody and Fitz's mum: I come in peace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place about three months after the Framework. Daisy and Jemma spend a couple months away regrouping while Fitz's mother and grandmother come in full force to support him.

“Nan!” Cody cries as soon as he notices Anna hovering in the doorway. 

 

He starts to roll off the bed, body suddenly flooded with excitement, but Jemma catches him with a sharp, “Cody!”

 

She’s gone rather rigid, eyes fixed on Anna as if she’s a viper, and lifts Cody to her hip, a protective hand cupping the back of his head. 

 

“It’s okay, Mom,” Cody says very softly, brushing her hair with his fingers. “It’s just Nan. She’s not going to hurt us.”

 

“Hello, Chickens,” Anna says. “May I come in?” 

 

She does her best to look non-threatening. It pains her to see Jemma looking at her this way. 

 

There’s a long pause, in which Cody leans in to whisper something in Jemma’s ear, and then finally the girl gives a jerky nod. Relieved, Anna makes her way into the makeshift bedroom. 

 

It’s cavernous and more like a warehouse than anything, with a wall of windows and furniture clustered in the middle of the room. But at least it’s sunny and less damp than their previous accommodations.

 

Jemma shifts from foot to foot as Anna approaches, keeping Cody in her arms.

 

“Hi, Nan,” he says, giving her a small wave. 

 

“Hello, love,” she says fondly, but doesn’t dare come close enough to ruffle his hair. Jemma is still watching her warily, so Anna holds up her hands. “I come in peace, I promise.” 

 

“Is there something you needed?” Jemma says somewhat cordially. 

 

Anna folds her hands before her. “Nothing in particular. I just wanted to see how you were.” 

 

“We’re fine, thank you,” Jemma tells her. 

 

Anna may only have bits of the story, but she can see what a blatant lie that is. 

 

They’ve both lost weight. Despite a touch of rosy sunburn across their noses and cheeks, they’re rather pale. Jemma has a new scar cutting across her forehead, and Cody coughs worryingly into his palm and lets his head drop against her shoulder as if he’s tired, although it’s hardly noon.

 

“You don’t look especially fine,” Anna remarks mildly. 

 

Jemma hefts Cody more securely in her arms. “Well, we are.”

 

If she knows anything, it’s how to pick her battles, so Anna merely nods. “Alright then. Would it be alright if I sit down?” 

 

Jemma glances at the mattress beside them. The sheets hang half on the floor and clothing and checkers and open cups of playdough are strewn across it. Much more haphazard than Anna has ever seen Jemma’s living quarters, but so much is to be expected when those living quarters are a queen-sized mattress shared with a ten-year-old. 

 

Jemma attempts to reach down, to move some of the clutter with Cody still balanced on her hip, but she winces and overbalances, nearly spilling them both across the bed. 

 

“I’ll just clear a space, if that’s alright,” Anna says quickly, steadying her. 

 

She moves a cardigan and a pile of freshly-laundered socks and perches on the edge, patting the space beside her to encourage Jemma to sit too. As soon as she has, Cody fights his way free of his mother’s arms and throws himself at Anna. 

 

“I missed you  _ so much _ , Nan!” 

 

“I missed you, too,” she tells him, kissing his cheek a few times for emphasis.

 

“Guess what, guess what!” Cody squeals suddenly, wriggling around with even more excitement in her embrace.

 

“What, what?” Anna laughs. 

 

“Grandma and Grandpa are getting PUPPY!” Cody shoots to his knees on the last word, too full of emotion to physically contain it all. “And, Nan, they said I can pick it out when they go!” 

 

“No way,” Anna feigns disbelief. 

 

“Yes way I swear!” 

 

“Okay, inside voice, love,” Jemma reminds him with a wince. “And try not to manhandle her.” 

 

“What’s manhandle?”

 

“It means don’t be so rough.”

 

“I didn’t hurt Nan, did I?” He looks at Anna with suddenly-wide eyes. 

 

“Of course not, I’m ironclad,” she assures him. “But you’d better do as your mum says.” 

 

Cody lets go of Anna’s shoulders and does his best to sit still in her lap as he fills her in on all the details of this particularly important event. Anna listens attentively, but she doesn’t fail to notice the way Jemma never relaxes. 

 

“I’ve got an idea,” she says when Cody pauses for a breath. “It sounds like there’s quite a lot to tell me, and I don’t know about you but I’m rather starving. What do you think about showing me the cafeteria?”

 

“Sure!” Cody says and jumps off her lap, ready to go immediately. “Mom and me just ate but they have ice cream all day long. And chocolate pudding. I can show you the good machine.”

 

“I hardly think you need more sugar,” Jemma comments, earning herself a drawn-out, beseeching “Moooooooom.”

 

She looks very uncomfortable with the invitation, though.

 

“I’m sure Fitz can show you if he hasn’t already,” she says to Anna. “Cody was up half the night, so we were going to have a nap.”

 

“You’re the one -“ Cody starts to say but Jemma pulls him against her side to stop him. 

 

“Thank you for checking in, it’s… good to see you.”

 

It is very clearly a dismissal. But Anna knows how to pick her battles. 

 

“Cody, love, would you mind giving your mum and me one minute to chat?” She leans in to whisper, although Jemma can clearly still hear, “I’ll try to talk her round on the ice cream.”

 

Cody looks up at Jemma, waiting for her assent before climbing over the bed and situating himself in the middle of the matchbox race track Pepper Potts had sent as a welcome gift when they first moved in. 

 

The whine of toy cars speeding around the two layer figure eight echoes in the large room. Jemma presses her fingers between her knees under Anna’s scrutinizing gaze. 

 

“You’ve been away an awfully long time,” Anna says, edging into the conversation. 

 

Jemma’s face crumples. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Dear,” Anna says, taken aback. She closes the distances between them on the bed to wrap an arm around Jemma’s shoulders. “What on earth for?”

 

“Well I left him again, didn’t I? You must be angry that I left him when he was - and I still can’t -“

 

Anna tuts and shakes her head. “My son’s got me to look after him. That’s what  _ I’m  _ here for. You’ve got your own son to look after, and yourself too.”

 

“You aren’t furious?”

 

“Jemma Anne, do you really think I came up here to berate you?”

 

Jemma says nothing, merely swallows hard and keeps her gaze fixed on the blank drywall in front of her. 

 

“I’m here,” Anna goes on, seeing the need to spell things out plainly, “to make sure you and Cody are alright. Because so far no one I’ve come across has been quite alright and I’ve been hearing some troubling stories about the two of you.”

 

Jemma gulps a deep breath and scrubs a hand over her face, finally drooping just a little. 

 

“We’re alright. We’re much better than we were.” 

 

“That hardly means you’re alright,” Anna points out skeptically. 

 

Jemma shrugs, then nods. There’s no point attempting to refute the observation. 

 

“You don’t have to tell me everything right now,” Anna assures her, squeezing her shoulders. “But I’ve rented the house through August. So I’ll be around should you ever want to.” 

 

“I can’t - I can’t come out there if he’s there,” she whispers. “I’m sorry - just not yet.” 

 

“That’s perfectly alright,” Anna says and pats her hand. “Now, shall we go get some food in the two of you?” 

 

“We really did just eat,” Jemma says, standing with her. 

 

“Not enough I’m sure. You’re too thin, the both of you. I’ve got two months to fatten you up, and you bet I will.” 

 

“Ice cream?” Cody asks, carefully stepping over the racetrack and scrambling back across the bed. 

 

“Alright, alright, one bowl,” Jemma relents, putting her arms around him from behind. 

 

“Yes! Nan’s the best.” 

 

He slips one hand into Jemma’s and one into Anna’s and begins pulling them both toward the door. 


End file.
